Run, Don't Run, Stop, Don't Stop
by Liey
Summary: Ponyboy didn't run to the lot or the park that night, and it's a long way back.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, and in the case of this chapter, I don't own the majority of the text here. There are many portions here taken straight from Chapter 3, pages 49 and 50.

I sat up, shivering. The stars had moved. "Glory, what time is it?"

"I don't know. I went to sleep, too, listening to you rattle on and on. You'd better get home. I think I'll stay all night out here." Johnny's parents didn't care if he came home or not.

I gave Johnny a skeptical look as a hard shiver ran through me.

"Come on, Johnny, crash on our couch for the night. Besides, I'm sure Darry will want to dig into me when I get home, so maybe he'll go easy on me if you're there."

"Okay."

There was silence between us as we jogged lightly towards my house.

"But give Darry a break, Pone. He just worries about you." Johnny, too? I just sighed and pulled ahead slightly. When we reached the house, the porch light was on. I prayed silently that they'd be asleep and that Johnny and I could just slip in unnoticed, but one look at Darry's face through the window told me 'fat chance'. I jumped lightly up the porch steps, and pushed the door open slowly, ready for the fight. Darry jumped to his feet.

"Where the heck have you been? Do you know what time it is?" He was madder than I'd seen him in a long time. I shook my head wordlessly.

Darry's eyes flashed to Johnny, who sidled over towards Soda on the other side of the room, but then back to me.

"Well, it's two in the morning, kiddo. Another hour and I would have had the police out for you. Where were you, Ponyboy" – his voice was rising- "Where in the almightly universe were you?"

It sounded dumb, even to me, when I stammered, "I…went to sleep in the lot…"

"Johnny and I-" –his eyes flashed back to Johnny, who cringed- "were talking and we both dropped off…"

"I reckon it never occurred to you that your brothers might be worrying their heads off and afraid to call the police because something like that could get you two thrown into a boys' home so quick it'd make your head spin. And you were asleep in the lot? Ponyboy, what on earth is the matter with you? Can't you use your head? You haven't even got a coat on."

I felt hot tears of anger and frustration rising. "I said I didn't mean to.."

"I didn't mean to!" Darry shouted, and I almost shook. "I didn't think! I forgot! That's all I hear out of you! Can't you think of anything?"

"Darry…" Sodapop began, but Darry turned on him. I noticed Johnny had slipped into the kitchen, and despite my frustration, I felt a little guilty for bringing him here.

"You keep your trap shut! I'm sick and tired of hearin' you stick up for him," Darry continued.

He should never yell at Soda. Nobody should ever holler at my brother. I exploded. "You don't yell at him!" I shouted. Darry wheeled around and slapped me so hard that it knocked me against the door.

Suddenly it was deathly quiet. We had all frozen. I saw Johnny's head peeking around the corner, his eyes wide, but I couldn't focus on anything. It was as if my brain just stopped working in that moment.

"Ponyboy…"Darry started, looking down at his red hand.

I turned and ran out the door and down the street as fast as I could. I had no idea where I was going, but I had to get away. I had to find some room to breathe. My surroundings, just a black blur, started to come into focus as my feet slowed. My breath was ragged, and tears stung at my eyes. I was scared and cold and confused, and I dropped down on the nearest curb.

I don't know how long I sat there with head in my hands, but my breathing became light and only slightly hitched. A strange, watery calm settled over me, and I knew I had to go home. I stretched back, cracking my neck and sighing deeply. As I stood, I felt something brush the back of my head and an arm twisted around my neck.

"Ain't it a little past your bedtime?"

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Review please! Criticism is very welcome, as all feedback is motivating.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2, here we go!

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The arm around my neck was thick and tight and sweaty, and hot breath was on my ear. The barrel of a gun dug into the back of my head. A Soc? Maybe.

"Your parents know you're out here, kid?" The voice was gravely, and it let out one quick chuckle. _Can't you think of anything? _Yes, Darry, I can.

"Yeah," I tried to say steadily, but it came out choked. "They're probably looking for me."

The voice chuckled again, and dug the gun harder into my head. He prodded me along with his foot, marching me across the street towards a car I hadn't noticed earlier. A red Chevy…maybe. Two doors, hardtop. _Soda…I need you._

He opened the passenger door and shoved me in face first, gun still against the back of my head. He kneeled down on the back of my knees and pressed my face against the driver's seat. Then he began rummaging around in the glove compartment until he pulled out a rope, brought my hands behind my back, and tied them up. I sucked in a sharp breath as my fingers tingled from the sudden loss of blood. He just pressed down harder on the back of my head.

"What do you want?" I tried to ask through a face-full of seat fabric.

"Just shut up." I clamped my jaw shut tight as he pulled out another length of rope and tied it around my ankles. _Fight. Fight! _Part of me wanted to tell that little voice to can it, because the barrel of his gun was pressed so hard against my skull that they might have fused together. Instinct won out and as he started on the second knot, I kicked. Hard. My foot slipped out of the loose rope and right into his face. The gun was still on me, but the pressure was relieved a little bit.

I snuck a glance sideways, and he had a hand over his face, blood streaming from his nose. "Dammit, kid! Hold still or I'll blow your fucking head off!"

The gun was back on my head, this time held with two hands. I felt a drop of blood drip onto my neck. And then his breath was hot on my neck again.

"You ready to die?" I tried to hold it in, but a tremor rocked me. He laughed, "I didn't think so."

With my face pressed against the seat again, I didn't even see the next blow coming.

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Before my eyes could focus, my tongue was pushing against a mass inside my mouth. _Baloney? _Through my gag, I let out one short laugh, which came out more like a sob, and turned into a few real sobs. The tears dribbled slowly down my cheeks, and they seemed to clear out my fuzzy eyes, bringing a strange room into focus. No window, but a door. A bed, nicely dressed, a nightstand with a lamp on it. I was confused.

That is, until I tried to stand up from my spot on the floor, and found that my feet were bound, my hands tied to a bar screwed into the wall. _Shit._

I blew out as hard as I could, hoping to dislodge my gag. It moved forward only a tiny bit, but just enough for me to get my tongue firmly behind it. With one good push, the soiled rag popped out and into my lap. It was a rather sickening feeling letting my saliva slowly seep through my jeans, so I wiggled around against my restraints until it rolled onto the floor.

The gag left my mouth completely dry, and I swallowed thickly a few times trying to get some moisture back. I wished crazily for a Pepsi, and another short laugh turned into a sob. _Pull it together, Ponyboy. Pull it together_. My throbbing head didn't help any. Neither did the line of blood dripping down my neck from the side of my head. I could only assume that he'd pistol-whipped me. It sure felt that way.

I was feeling kind of fuzzy. My head throbbed and my wrists ached. _What day is it? _I was having trouble holding onto thoughts…they kept slipping away.

"This is like being drunk." I mumbled stupidly. I let my head fall against my chest and closed my eyes…

The next thing I knew, someone was pulling my chin up.

"Wakey, wakey." Gravelly Voice held my chin in one of his big, sweaty hands. He had dark sun glasses on, but I could see every one of his crooked teeth as his stubble-strewn face stretched into a grim smile. Keeping my chin in his grasp, he motioned behind him and a tall, skinny, blonde man stepped into my vision. He knelt down next to Gravelly Voice and plucked at a piece of my hair. I tried to pull away, but Gravelly Voice kept me still.

"What do you want?" I tried again. They didn't seem to hear me.

"How is he?" Gravelly Voice asked, turning to Skinny. Skinny studied my face hard for a moment. He scrunched up his nose, as if in thought, and then sighed.

"Yeah. He's fine."

Gravelly Voice stood up and clapped his hands once, before reaching his hand out to Skinny, who put an envelope in them. Gravelly Voice gave me one last grim look, and then marched out of the room. Skinny knelt down next to me again. I searched my fuzzy brain for something, _anything_, to say. I came up with nothing. Left empty, I began to tremble slightly.

"It's 10'o'clock in the morning," Skinny said, settling in on the floor next to me. "You were out for a long time."

"Yeah," I muttered drowsily. I was really tired all of a sudden. "Don't let him hit me so hard next time."

"Oh, he's not coming back." Skinny put a hand on my leg, which I flinched back from. He scrunched up his nose again, and pulled my face towards him. "That little reflex is going to have to change." _Come on, Ponyboy. Think. Think!_

"What do you want?"

Skinny just stood up, and headed for the door. My eyelids were drifting closed, and I struggled to stay awake as white spots floated across my vision.

"Hey!" I shouted weakly, "What do you want?!"

"The same thing as everyone else."

I heard him lock the door from the outside as I finally drifted off.

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Once again, all feedback is greatly appreciated! Review please!


	3. Chapter 3

So, I suppose I should apologize quickly. My chapters will be relatively short. I find it easier to write in smaller portions, but that does mean that I'll update fairly regularly. Anyway, enjoy!

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I still felt tired when I woke up again. My wrists were throbbing almost as much as my head was, mostly because I had slumped over in my sleep, leaving all of my weight on my wrists, which were still chained. I couldn't feel my fingers anymore. I groaned as my scabby skull throbbed, and struggled back into a sitting position. Skinny was lounging on the bed, smiling at me.

"It's about time you woke up." He slipped casually off the bed and kneeled down in front of me. He picked at the bloody mess on the side of my head, and I sucked in a painful breath. "You probably have one heck of a headache."

"Yeah."

He pulled a little bottle of aspirin out of his jacket pocket and dumped five into his hand. "Here."

I stared at them warily. White spots were still floating across my vision, and the throbbing in my head made it hard to think. But as much as I would've liked to relieve my headache, I'd have to be an idiot to accept pills from my captor, regardless of what the label on the bottle claimed they were. I just closed my eyes and sighed.

"No? You don't want them?" He face lit up with a mischievous smile.

"Not from you."

He pulled his hand away quickly, as if he'd been burned, and the smile slipped from his face. For a moment, I thought for sure he was going to hit me, or force the pills down my throat.

The grin spread across his face again, wider this time. "Smart, kid. Smart." He laughed for a moment, and then downed the five pills dry.

"Your loss," He said, "they were real." _Who is this guy? _

"Are you going to let me go?" This time he laughed so hard a tear slipped from his closed lid, which he wiped away with one stick finger.

"Let you go? Oh, son, I don't think I'm ever letting you go."

My stomach dropped…dropped right through the floor and towards the center of the earth. My vision went completely white. I'd never see Soda again. I'd never see Johnny, or Darry, or Two-bit, or Dally. Shoot, I'd never get to piss Steve off again. The tears started flowing again, and I moaned once. I knew that tears wouldn't do me any good, but they just kept coming.

When an arm was thrown around my shoulders and started patting my arm comfortingly, my eyes shot open. Skinny was there, looking down at me sympathetically.

"Don't worry. I like you, so I won't kill you." _That's comforting._ Before I could stop myself, a wad of my spit landed right in his left eye. He recoiled immediately, wiping furiously at his eye. There was no grin on his face, no hint of a smile.

He pulled a key out of his back pocket and before I could fight he had my hands free from the wall and chained together behind my back. He dragged me along the wood floor towards the bed. My bound feet wriggled behind me as I struggled. He pushed me up onto the bed, and sat over me with his knees digging into my elbows, my hands still chained under my lower back.

He looked down at me, the smile returning to his face. "You know," he began conversationally, "I'm a big statistics guy." He emphasized 'statistics guy' with a punch to the face on each word.

"And buddy boy, you are very lucky, statistically speaking. 'Nonfamily Abduction' is what they call this, because we ain't blood. I don't even know you. But I do know that most people would've," his voice lowered to a casual whisper, "killed you by now."

He pulled a blade out from under the mattress and held it against my throat. I closed my eyes and tried to steady my heavy breathing. _I'm being jumped again. I'm just being jumped…_

"You're also very unlucky, statistically speaking. Most teens are taken by people they know, and most of those teens are girls. Only 33 percent of Nonfamily Abductions are perpetrated by strangers, and only 35 percent of those kids taken are boys."

He was starting to sound like a textbook, just reeling off facts casually like we were in a classroom. I was confused. I felt sick. I wanted to wake up and find out that all of this was some horrible, bizarre dream. I wanted to roll over and shake Soda awake, and tell him that I'd never run away. And then a terrible thought fell on me like a boulder. No one even knew I'd been kidnapped. I ran away. They wouldn't be looking for me, because I _ran_ away.

_I ran away._

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Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, and _please_ keep it up!


	4. Chapter 4

Thank you to everyone who reviewed! This is going to be a short chapter, because it was originally quite a bit longer, but I liked the end of this portion better as a stopping point. The next chapter will be up very soon!

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The days began to blend together. My head throbbed constantly, and my wrists became bloody messes. My face was swollen from all of Skinny's "emphatic" words, and I tried in vain to wet my cracked lips. I wouldn't take his pills. I wouldn't take his food. He spoke to me, but I never answered. A constant state of confusion descended over me, and thoughts came slowly, sluggishly. They were thick and slippery and hard to hold on to. My head was full of cotton.

I sat on floor, chained to the wall once again. _Fight. Run._ The little voice of instinct was still there, but it was weak.

"I'm chained. How can I run?" I muttered drowsily to myself. I pulled against my restraints, and then gasped. A scab broke and blood began running down my arm. I watched it drip…drip…drip…

"Good morning," Skinny came in and locked the door behind him. "How are we today, Sunshine?"

My gaze flickered lazily towards his face and then back to the little drops of blood dotting the floor. _The new routine_.

"I said," he gripped my chin hard and yanked my face up, "how are you?"

I shrugged. He slugged me. My head rammed into the wall. _But really, what's one more bump?_

"I thought we'd decided you were going to start playing nice?" He phrased it like a question, but his glare made it clear that it was an order. I just shrugged.

"You could call me 'Daddy'."

Something in me snapped. A guttural sound escaped my lips, and I ground my teeth together. I pulled against my chains, lunging towards him. I wanted to hurt him. I wanted it to be his blood that dotted this floor. I wanted to lay into him good and hard. I wished for a blade, a heater, a pipe. I wished I were more of a fighter. I wished I had the instincts, the skill, the power to drive his stupid head straight through the floor. Then the image of Soda fighting off a Soc hit my like a kick in the stomach, and I slumped over limply. Skinny pulled my face up again.

"Is that…self control?" _No, it was despair_. I didn't grace him with a response. "There's a reward for that, you know."

He walked out of the room, and I heard the click of the lock behind him. A moment later he was back with a big bottle of water.

"You must be thirsty."

I was. He held the bottle in front of my face, and I could feel the slight chill radiating off of it. Tiny drops of condensation dripped slowly down the sides, and my breathing got heavier. My mouth was suddenly the driest place on the planet and my tongue was just a brittle slab of flesh. My lips were shriveled and caked with blood. My skin felt tight across my face. _I'd give anything…_

"Call me Daddy." He grinned, unscrewed the cap, and took a long drink. I moaned quietly, weak with forgotten thirst. _Just say it. Just say it._

"Just say it." _I can't…_

_Just say it. _The clear liquid shimmered slightly in the dim lighting.

"Just say it."

_I can't… _My heart and stomach clenched painfully.

"Just say it."

"Fuck you." Fists rained down on me, but I felt oddly…victorious.

Until I realized that he left the bottle on the floor just out of my reach.

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Question! Is a Soda/Darry POV chapter in order, or are we enjoying Pony's experience?

Keep up the amazing reviews and let me know what you think. I'm extremely grateful for all constructive criticism.


	5. Chapter 5

There seemed to be a bit of a split on whether or not to have a Soda/Darry chapter, so I'm going to stick with Ponyboy for now, but you get a hint of "Soda" and "Darry". ;)

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_The world was foggy, swirling around me dizzily. I couldn't quite keep my eyes open, but I was running. A mustang...blue, maybe green, I couldn't tell, flew past me. I stumbled toward it, groping towards the strange sense of familiarity that it brought. A paperback book floated into my vision, the pages flapping rapidly in a wind I couldn't quite feel. I opened my mouth to call out, but couldn't get my voice to work. The book continued to float down the deserted street that I blinked to find myself running down. I jogged heavily behind it. I felt sluggish, like I was running through quicksand. My eyes still fought to stay open._

_The book landed lightly on some steps. Three steps. They weren't connected to anything, and a sense of disappointment descended over me. I sat down and put my heavy head in my hands._

_"Hey there, Pony."_

_A voice behind me floated into my ears softly. I tried to turn my head around, but my neck refused to move. I tried to speak, but only a groan came out. A big, warm, calloused hand came down on my shoulder, and I was suddenly able to stand up and turn around._

_Soda stood in front of me, my favorite lopsided grin spread across his face. Darry's head poked around a doorway that had appeared. My doorway. Our doorway. My house slowly crept into existence, sliding silently from the fog._

_"Where have you been, Ponyboy?"_

_Soda had his hand on my back and he steered me inside, where Darry stood with his arms crossed. I couldn't piece my jumbled thoughts together._

_"I- they took me, Darry, I swear!" His expression didn't change, and he cleared his throat as if still waiting for an answer._

_"Darry, I swear. I was running, and then I sat down on the curb-"_

_"Where in the almighty universe were you, Ponyboy?" Darry's face was turning slightly red, his fists clenched. Soda was looking down at me sadly._

_"We've been worried, Ponyboy. Where were you?"_

_"I…I told you, they took me. I couldn't do anything." The words came out fast and garbled, dribbling from my mouth._

_"Can't you ever use your head, Ponyboy?" Darry's voice was rising._

_"He had a gun."_

_"What on earth is the matter with you?"_

_"I was chained."_

_"Ponyboy," Soda chimed in, and a rush of gratitude swept over me, "you haven't even got a coat on. Can't you think of anything?"_

_I felt like I'd been punched in the gut, and hot tears started running down my cheeks. Darry and Soda grew larger and larger, both with their arms crossed, their fists clenched. They glared down at me, their voices booming._

_"You could've fought, Ponyboy." Darry's giant face wavered in front of mine. _

_"You're weak." Soda's frown mangled his face. _

_"Can't you ever think? Why didn't you fight?" They were speaking together now as one deep voice. I started shaking and my feet felt like they were nailed to the floor. Giant Soda and Darry loomed over me, their voices ringing in my ears. My head throbbed. Hot tears ran down my cheeks, and fell into my burning wrists._

_"Can't you ever think? Why didn't you fight? Can't you ever think? Why didn't you fight? You're weak. You're weak. You're weak."_

_You're weak._

_I'm weak._

I awoke with a gasp.

He was lounging on the bed reading a magazine. I snapped my eyes shut as soon as I saw him and tried to keep my breathing slow and steady.

"I know you're awake." He closed the magazine and sat up. I sighed. "Come on, open up."

I heard him slide off the bed, and he was next to me in three steps. _Three steps._ I kept my eyes shut tight. I wasn't ready to leave that nightmare for this one. I wasn't ready to face _him_. Seeing Soda and Darry had almost been a welcome relief. Almost. I wished desperately for just a few moments alone. My grasp on reality was slipping, and I needed a moment to slide everything back into place. The _real_ throbbing in my head and wrists and face helped with that a bit. Feeling his hands on my shoulders, I took one last deep breath and opened my eyes.

"That's better." He smiled down at me, squeezing my shoulders slightly. I just stared straight ahead. He patted my purple cheek lightly and sat down next to me. We were both silent for a few long minutes.

"It's not very comfortable down here," He began in a baiting tone, letting his voice trail off suggestively, "You could use the bed."

I just grunted. _The bed would be nice…_ I had a hard time even remembering what something other than a hard floor felt like beneath my aching bones. The thought of a pillow cushioning my ever-splitting head caused a longing moan to slip out. Skinny chuckled and ran a hand through my hair. I flinched back.

"If only we could get rid of that nasty reflex."

His lips were right next to my ear, and I could feel his sticky breath on the side of my face and neck.

"A night in the bed sounds good, doesn't it?" He whispered.

I couldn't help it. I nodded. He smiled and rubbed his hands together.

"I think a little training should iron that out."

He walked over to the door and made a show of trying to open it. He jiggled the handle, banged on the door, even shoved against it with his shoulder, all the while smiling at me.

"Now that we have that covered, I know you'll be a good boy when I unlock those cuffs." He flourished with the key for a moment, before unchaining me and stuffing it back into an inside pocket of his jacket. I stood up slowly, taking my sweet time, not that my sore body would've let me move any faster if I'd wanted to. I winced and cracked my back, which was screaming and protesting. My legs, which I hadn't used properly since I arrived, felt like jelly. Skinny watched me curiously as I stretched each leg out in front of me and gave it a quick shake.

It wasn't until I tried to walk that my knees gave out. I found myself on all fours, panting and muttering. Blood from my wrists, which had ripped open with the swift movement, dribbled onto my hands and the floor. Skinny chuckled, and pulled me up by the collar of my shirt.

"I'm sorry, son, but the only way to get rid of this reflex," He ran a hand across my cheek, which I moved away from, "requires that I hurt you."

_Gee, that's new._ I fought the urge to spit at him.

"When you can take a hit without reacting, you'll be fully trained."

He slugged me across the face, knocking me to the floor. My breathing became ragged again, and I struggled slowly back to my feet, rubbing my cheek.

"Strike one."

The next punch was to the ribs. I went down again.

"Strike two."

A punch to the chest. I went down.

"Strike three"

It was harder to get up each time, and I struggled not to pass out as he made it to, "Strike fifteen."

Somewhere around eighteen I stopped trying to get up.

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Keep up the amazing reviews! I know this chapter came late, but they really are extremely motivating, and I just love me some constructive criticism.


	6. Chapter 6

I am VERY sorry. There is a very long and complicated explanation as to why I haven't posted in so long, and it involves a dramatic tale of dangerous dives, traumatic brain injuries, and massive amounts of writer's block, but that's a story for another time. For now, I have a nice new chapter and the promise of more to come soon as a peace offering. Enjoy!

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I needed a shave. I needed a shower. I needed a good night's sleep. I needed a lot of things right now.

I needed Ponyboy.

He'd been gone for over a week now, ever since Darry hit him that night. Darry was a wreck, just going through the motions, but I could tell he wasn't really there. Whenever I caught him alone, sitting in his chair, his leg was bouncing up and down nonstop. He'd just stare blankly at the TV and bounce his leg up and down. I knew he was thinking about Ponyboy, feeling guilty.

At first, we'd waited. That first night Darry, Johnny and I sat in our living room, not talking, just waiting, hoping Pony would cool off and come back soon. He never did. We all fell asleep eventually. The next morning I woke up and ran to our room, hoping to find him there snoring. The empty room that I found instead _hurt_. Darry went crazy that morning. He was close behind me as I went down the hall, but stormed back as soon as he saw the empty bed. I heard a glass break in the kitchen. I sat down on the bed and waited.

Johnny slid into the bedroom a few minutes later. He looked white and his eyes shifted uneasily as he sat down on the floor across from me.

"He'll come home soon." Johnny said softly.

"I know." I sighed. "Pony probably just needed time to cool off. You know him. He starts thinking about something, worrying about something, and he can't get it out of his head. He probably fell asleep in the lot again."

I wasn't sure I believed what I was saying, but it needed to be said.

Seven days later Ponyboy still hadn't come home. Darry had the whole neighborhood on alert. After three days he'd gone out after work and asked around, wanting to know if anyone had seen Ponyboy. No one had.

"Well, you see him you tell him to come home, got it?"

Everyone got it, but Pony still wasn't home.

When I got home from work on the eighth day, Darry was already home sitting in his chair. He had the phone in his hands, the cord stretched as far as it would go. The dial tone was blaring, but he didn't seem to notice. He looked up as I came in.

"I think we should call the police." He looked pained, like he wasn't really sure.

"The state…" I trailed off. I felt bad for bringing it up. Of course Darry worried about the state, too. Probably even more than I did. What if Pony was just off somewhere nearby blowing off steam? What if we called the police and the state got wind? Wouldn't they just find Pony and cart him off somewhere?

"I know." Darry sighed again and rolled the phone between his hands. But what if something bad had happened? What if Pony wanted to come home, but couldn't? Pictures, awful pictures of Pony lost or hungry or hurt sprang up. My stomach hurt real bad thinking about that.

"You're right. We should call the police."

Knowing where Pony was and knowing that he was safe, even off in some foster home away from us, was better than not knowing anything.

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Darry's leg was bouncing like crazy as we waited in the precinct. The officer at the desk said we should come in, talk to the detective in the Missing Persons unit. Detective Kenneth Baker had three plastic chairs outside his office door. The blinds were pulled down on his office windows, but I could hear muffled voices from inside. Were some other brothers in there right now looking for their lost little brother? Parents, maybe, looking for a child? How many lost kids could there be? _Kids_. Pony really was just a kid, barely fourteen years old. I felt kind of nauseous.

Finally, the door opened and two uniformed officers stepped out. One caught my eye and nodded. A third man dressed in a suit put his hands in his pockets and sighed, then saw me and Darry.

"Are you the Curtis brothers?" I nodded, and he held out his hand. "I'm Detective Baker. Officer Rolands said you're looking for your younger brother?"

"Yessir," Darry said, shaking Detective Baker's hand, "I'm Darrel Curtis, and this is my brother Sodapop."

Baker shook my hand and cocked an eyebrow at my name, but didn't comment.

"Come on in, boys. Let's see what I can do for you."

Baker led us into his office, and motioned for us to sit down in two plush chairs against the wall. He sat down behind his desk, pulled his jacket off, and got a pad and pen out of his desk drawer.

"So, your brother, what's his name and how old is he?"

"Ponyboy. He's fourteen." I answered quickly. Baker cocked his eyebrow again, but just nodded and scratched on his pad.

"When was the last time you saw him?"

Darry flinched, but looked Baker in the eyes.

"Eight days ago." Baker looked up at that.

"And you're only just reporting this now? Does Ponyboy often disappear for over a week?"

"No!" I answered, sitting forward in my chair. Darry held out a hand to silence me and ran the other hand through his hair.

"No sir, he doesn't. We had a fight that night. He was real mad, mostly at me, and he stormed out. We thought he was just cooling off, maybe crashing at a buddy's place, so we didn't want to cause any more trouble."

Baker's eyes narrowed.

"And when he didn't come home after the first few days?"

I wanted to punch him. Didn't he think we'd been worried? I hadn't slept in days, picturing all the things that could be happening to Pony, wishing he'd just _come home_. And this detective in a suit thought he'd just guilt us a little more? Darry seemed to sense that I was losing my cool and shot me a look that shut me down real quick. What mattered was finding Ponyboy, and if it meant being pushed by some suit…well, as long as he brought Pony home, it would be worth it.

"Detective," Darry began, sounding completely drained, "our parents died in a car wreck a while back, and I've been taking care of my brothers since then. The state has been nosing around from day one, trying to take the boys away, trying to separate us. Something like this, well, it doesn't look good. I didn't want Ponyboy to be taken away from us if this was just a misunderstanding. I should've called earlier. It's just been too long, and he should've been home by now, but-" Darry cut off and lowered his head into his hands, his shoulders shaking slightly. Baker's eyes softened a bit as he wrote, and then he looked up at me like he was expecting something more.

"He's been gone too long, Detective. You need to help us find him."

* * *

Does that soothe the burning desire to see how our fair brothers are doing? Comments and criticisms welcome, as always!


End file.
